


Dilaudid

by LadyProto



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst and Feels, Burns, Chocobos, Comments save kittens, Gen, Moral Ambiguity, Serious Injuries, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-18
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 17:44:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14360430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyProto/pseuds/LadyProto
Summary: The forgotten prince sits at the feet of the Oracle. They have different viewpoints on the birds outside of the palace window.((Alternative interpretation of Luna and Ravus as presented in canon))





	Dilaudid

The generous sunlight does nothing to erase the pallor from my brother’s face. If anything, it exposes how much Ravus has wasted away these last few months. His cheeks have sunken in like jack-o-lanterns softened with mold. There is not light nor life in his left eye. It’s clouded over like an oil spill in crystal waters, tinged purple as bulging blood blisters. I barely recognize the shell in front of me as my own kin.

Ravus sits at my feet, head ever so slightly bobbing under the effect of his pain medication. His arm is gone. His elbow and everything below it has been amputated. What’s left is the charred mangled bits of meat, cut and spiralized like a holiday ham left too long under the broiler. Even with the magitek prosthesis the smell of burnt flesh still lingers around him, as if the tissues under his plated arm continue to smolder. He makes my stomach churn. 

Our time together will be short, as he is only in Tenebrae while he heals. Despite the precious few moments we have been allowed he makes no use of them. He has yet to speak. I know blood-relationship does not determine familiarity, but I can’t help but repeat the words in my head. _Ravus, you are my brother. My brother. Shouldn’t this count for something?_ Still, I try to speak to him, of comfortable little things as I do with the strangers that come to me for solace. I grasp for the scene outside of the window. “The chocobos have come home to roost.”

The resulting silence causes me to doubt if we were ever truly close. I tell myself we must have been. I have memories of his ghost, the boy long-gone reading stories to me by flashlight underneath the covers. He would kneel on scrawny skinned-knees to feed the dogs in the kitchen, even if they never offered him as much love as they did to me. As he grew older, I would watch from my bedroom as he fed the stray cats the well-marbled pieces of his left-over steak. But maybe like everything, these memories are more golden-tinged than the reality they portray. 

The narcotics must slow his system, as he turns toward the window several seconds after I’ve spoken. The movement crushes flesh against metal, and the soft skin of his neck cuts against the sharp edges of his prosthesis. Blood slowly oozes to the surface, a macabre strand of red beads against the washed-out skin. He makes no reaction to the wound, so neither do I. Instead he stares blankly out the window down to the grassy knoll where we used to play. He gives me no words, but I still consider it an improvement from yesterday. I offer him more of my companionship. “I always found it funny when they tried to fly on their tiny little wings.” 

And finally, after what seems like endless days, I hear my brother’s voice. It comes gravelly and strained, hissed out from between clenched teeth. Like everything else, my memory of his voice is far more pleasant than the rumble that comes out. “It always was such a depressing scene. Why call them birds and not allow them to fly?”

Responses fail me; I can’t let this moment slip away. I shift my focus so that I am not looking at greenery but instead Ravus as he is reflected in the glass of the window. Wide-eyed and opened-mouthed, he looks like a caught fish, some scrawny Alstor bass brought to surface but not thrown back when deemed insufficient. The plates on his arm are just wide enough for his bony fingers to work at. Under the scales, that’s where parasites burrow. Under his armor, this renunciation seared into his crumbling flesh. I don’t understand what the image before me. This broken thing, this is a man, and not just my elder brother. With proximity comes nearsightedness. I cannot remember a time when he was a person instead of just an idea. 

I have seen more than I am meant to. I close my eyes, think of scriptures, say prayers. What can I possible say to the cynic, to the one that knows the price but doubts the value? I believe that loss -- all loss -- is ordained, holy, valuable. Given a chance, I would do nothing differently. The grip that Ravus keeps on his arm implies his dissention. What he remembers is the flames. Divinity, hot white lightning, the booming voice of The Gods saying he is not worthy. Despite royal blood, oracle blood. Not worthy.

When I open my eyes, the moment is gone. I am now looking at some poor haggard creature as one would through the glass of a pet shop window. I take a moment to stroke his silver hair, but in the end, I have no choice but to walk by. There is no familiarity, only a sad distant pity. I am whole. He is not. 

“One simply cannot do what the Gods do not allow.” 

Ravus meets my eyes via reflection. Does he too see the caged animal? Or does he only see how I left him to burn alive on the floor of the Citadel? Whatever he thinks of me, I accept it. As I do with everything. 

“No, one cannot.”

**Author's Note:**

> So, I realize this probably isn’t going to be will received. After watching Kingsglaive again, I noticed how little Luna seemed to care about Ravus literally _burning alive_ on the floor. Thus my tentative and unpopular HC:  
>  Luna and Ravus aren’t actually close. She’s too privileged to realize his suffering. Everyone adores the Oracle, but they forget the Prince


End file.
